


Wanna Be Your Left Hand Man

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Series: Ink and Sins [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Butt Plugs, Coming Untouched, D/s elements, M/M, Omega Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Titty Fucking, no powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:56:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: If Bucky is going to keep doubting how Steve feels about him, then his ways of convincing him are going to have to get a lot more creative.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Ink and Sins [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024149
Comments: 12
Kudos: 211





	Wanna Be Your Left Hand Man

**Author's Note:**

> Don't look at me like that, I have to write SOMETHING every now and then to call myself an author.
> 
> Written purely out of spite, because of twitter discourse bullshit saying that Bucky is too manly to be called "sweetheart." Shuuuuuuut up, he's a bottom, and it's the appropriate thing to say to him.

Bucky has no reason to be mad, not really. He  _ can’t  _ be mad, not when he’s in hour four of an appointment, there’s gold leaf to color (or as near as you can get to it on human skin) and this guy he’s got on his table, well, he’s been a really, really good client. Patient as hell, considering how fucking booked Bucky is most of the time. It’s been three months since he had him under his fingers, and all the work that he’s had done, well, every single mark is his. It’s a pretty big compliment to him that he’s  _ that  _ trusted - or he’s just got a complex like Bucky does for uniformity. He’s not much for a clash of styles, thank you very much. Not that Bucky would say his style holds to any one influence. Cherry picking the best elements of a lot of creators is the way to go, why go for one thing when you can have  _ all  _ of them. And he’s got to say, he’s pretty damned proud of the progress he’s made today. That should be enough.

But he keeps hearing Steve laughing in his booth, that rich, deep-chest chuckle that precludes how  _ relaxed  _ he is, and Steve… it’s Bucky who should hear it the most. It’s frustrating, to listen to Steve joking and making cracks, humming to the big band music he likes to have on while he works, just loud enough to be heard over the whine of his tattoo gun. Something sweet, Glenn Miller it sounds like. He loves his walking anachronism, very dearly. Steve dresses like a lumberjack who doesn’t like woodcutting, keeps a high faded undershave and has scrollwork calligraphy of Samuel Coleridge Taylor poetry and Vance Joy across his shoulders, and maybe that’s to be expected - but for his favorite music to be that of the Depression? Yeah, Bucky’s never really understood that. What’s frustrating him even more, though, is the fact that his body is reacting to that laugh, like it’s pressed against  _ his  _ ear and he just asked Bucky what he wants. Him. All of him. His body, his voice, and just… all of it. Goddammit, he can’t get wet now, not when he’s got a musclebound, shirtless alpha already worked up by a needle digging into his skin. Not that he would  _ do  _ anything, but… Bucky tries to keep his biological reactions to his alpha under control when he’s on the clock.

“You alright if I take a second?” Bucky takes his foot off the pedal and leans back, his shoulders popping and his chest tight. Jason turns his head, groggy with the sedative he took, and gives Bucky a put-out kind of look. “Hey, it’ll be just a second, this isn’t exactly a picnic for me either.” Especially if Steve keeps laughing like he does. He doesn’t even know what he and  _ Remy  _ are talking about, but Bucky doesn’t have to to not like it. 

Jason stands, stretching his own arm up and out, his hairy pit exposed and blasting Bucky with pheromones. Not  _ his  _ alpha, but a man can only take so much. “Need a piss anyway,” he says, and gets up, his boots loud on the wooden floor as he leaves the booth. Bucky licks his lips and takes his gloves off, frustrated, wishing he’d worn looser pants that day. Everything feels too hot and too trapped, and he doesn’t enjoy that feeling at all. Christ, why do we have to wear clothes at all, he wonders. Man’s natural state is naked, free, and warm. Gotta keep the temperature down though, or germs will happen. Ha. Like Steve’s ever been worried with those, with as many busted lips and bloody knuckles as he’s had. An alpha, for sure, with that hot-bloodedness. It’s devastatingly sexy and immensely frustrating all at once. Whatever. Bucky stands up and grabs his thermos of tea, still warm from that morning. He drinks it gratefully and wonders out of the booth for just a minute, trying to get his circulation back. He can just peek inside the curtain of Steve’s booth, and he sees those shoulders straining against his flannel, bent over as he does - an ass tattoo. A fucking rose vine, down the left cheek of Remy’s  _ very  _ shapely butt and across his thigh, the back of it - which  _ why,  _ who the fuck would ever see it there.

Remy’s an omega. Lots of people are gonna be staring at his ass, especially if he’s taking a fucking knot from behind. Bucky likes it that way too really, but face up is so, so much better, because you can see his eyes and take in the moment that his knot swells to-

“‘M back,” Jason rumbles, and Bucky shivers, the tone enough to make him want… things. Just maybe not from him. “You good?” He quirks a pierced eyebrow at Bucky, and he nods back, sniffing the air to try and pick more of his alpha out from under the scent of blood, ink, and nervous sweat. It’s not quite there, but Bucky can’t really stand here and try to discern - Jason’s paid good money for his time, and hormones can’t cut that short before he does. He goes back into his booth, watches Jason re-settle his long body on his bench face down, putting in wireless buds before Bucky puts on fresh gloves. Can’t really blame him - Steve’s music is purely his. 

Right as Bucky is about to put color to skin, Jason turns and says “I can only do about another hour, if that’s alright. Got a thing uptown tonight.” Bucky nods again, and he continues to work on the nightmare Klimt design that Jason had brought him months ago. It is a pretty cool tattoo, and Bucky’s gonna be pleased as hell with it when it’s done. He always is, but this one has been richly challenging, and Jason hasn’t been mean or inappropriate this whole time. In fact, he’s not said much during any of their sessions, he just comes in, takes his shirt off, lays down, and Bucky works. Silent as a stone, not even a grunt of pain. 

So very unlike Remy and his goddamn ass tattoo, but it’s  _ fine.  _ Just that being so close to temptation, and if Remy gets wet, Steve… Steve is Steve. He loves Bucky, and Bucky needs to trust him more. He does. He’s sewn up more cuts and scrapes of his than he can remember, and that doesn’t count for nothing. Alphas are possessive beasts, sure, but some omegas? Jealousy is an understatement. And their line of work has them around a lot of different people, of many different scents and intentions. Bucky just doesn’t have the wherewithal to  _ not  _ think about what some of them think about or see when Steve’s skilled, inked fingers are on their bodies. He tries not to, really, but he’s been acquainted for far too long with what those hands, that mouth,  _ all  _ of him, is capable of. Which is why he’s fighting a quickly losing battle to his own impulses. He sinks his teeth into his tongue to bite back a needy whine, and thank God that hour is up, signaled by Jason plucking an earbud out. “We done?”

“Sure - same time in two months?” Bucky thinks that’s how he’s got him booked, and he’s sure Jason will remember. Jason nods, lets Bucky wrap up the fresh work, arms up, then tugs his shirt back on. He gets a grumbled  _ thanks  _ and Bucky watches him go, sitting on his stool and just breathing. He’s this close to being wet, and it won’t do to have that problem right now. He cleans up his space, hands shaking until he lifts his thermos and sucks down enough tea to nearly choke on it. He can’t go across the street to change right now, just in case his briefs  _ do  _ carry any slick. He goes to the bathroom and splashes water on his face, trying his best to ignore the ugly, hot tangle of unfounded jealousy in his belly. Why does Steve have to be so fucking handsome and relaxed and charming? Because he’s an alpha, and alphas are supposed to put  _ any  _ omega at ease, not just the ones that he’s mated to. Which is what makes him so annoyingly good at this, beyond the insane talent and unparalleled eye for freshness.

He’s still grumbling to himself when he walks out - and collides with Steve. Who was waiting for him, apparently. Thing is, Bucky is tall for an omega, but Steve is taller. Two hundred and forty pounds of tightly wound muscles and stoic energy, ready to be tapped at any moment he chooses. “Bucky,” he says, and Bucky stops dead. His arms are crossed, he’s got enough buttons undone that Bucky can see  _ a lot  _ of chest hair, and he’s tonguing his pierced lip like he’s trying to decide if he wants to eat Bucky, or fuck him. “Everything alright?”

“I’m fine.” Peachy, even. Steve’s eyes narrow, fucking blue-green-turqoise bullshit, designed to lure in any omega with a pulse and a wet hole. Which at this moment, is Bucky. Lucky him. “Stop it, I’m fine.” So he’s lying. Whatever. It’s Bucky’s problem to deal with, not Steve’s. It’s really  _ Remy’s  _ fault. “Steve, come on, I’m not… I’m good, I promise.” He’s got another client in thirty minutes, and he’s got to eat something before that or he’ll pass out before their session is even done. Steve just takes a step towards him and puts a hand against the wall next to his head, boxed in, pheromone-assaulted, his left hand coming up to hook the tip of his thumb on Bucky’s bottom lip. It lingers there for a moment, just barely pulling down to show off the white of his teeth. He swipes, gets the pad wet, and then licks it off, a taste of his omega without the taste.

Bucky’s knees could buckle if it weren’t for the wall behind him.

He watches Steve’s pupils dilate with that tease of him, followed by Steve’s gaze slowly sliding down his body like he’s got x-ray vision. “You don’t smell fine.” He leans in closer, nose hovering just an inch above the skin of his neck. “You smell pissed off, and so far as I know, I haven’t done anything to make you that way today.” He moves in behind Bucky’s ear, moving his hair out of the way - and taking the ponytail holder he keeps on his wrist to pull Bucky’s locks back into a low bun, sweeping it away from his face. Bucky doesn’t say a word, reveling in the undivided attention that his alpha is giving him. “If this is about Remy, you do understand that I can’t help where he wants a tattoo done, and if you think his is gonna be the only nice ass on my table, you’re wrong. I can’t turn away clients based on the fact that they take care of their bodies, Bucky, and I didn’t exactly see you complaining while you were inking Jason up.”

Bucky’s cheeks flush, knowing damn well that he’s been caught out. “What was so funny that he made you laugh like that,” he manages. If he’s going to be forced to confess, he needs to just  _ do  _ it. “Is it because he was being agreeable and warm and… all those things I’m supposed to be working on?” Is he? Or did he make that up. Steve could be  _ less  _ friendly, is all he’s saying. Bucky meets his eyes again, straightens up and tries to duck to the other side - only for another muscular arm to box him in. Steve isn’t letting him out of this, is he? “Steve, come on, I’m over it now, I was just being-”

“A brat, Bucky, a brat.” Steve clicks his tongue, and Bucky just manages to hold his ground. “He was being funny, Bucky, because he was getting a tattoo on his ass. There  _ is  _ humor in that situation, I promise you. How often do you get someone who walks in and says ‘hey Bucky, can you do a butterfly on my right cheek?’ Exactly. And if it was me, I’d be nervous as hell if someone was waving sharp needles around  _ any  _ part of my lower half. Why do you think you’ve never seen an alpha come in for some filigree on his knot? So yeah, I joked with him to get him to calm down. I’m honestly a little insulted that I’d be tempted by base instinct.”

“He had a nice ass, Steve, is all. And he’s charming as hell.” Bucky huffs, and Steve’s eyebrow goes up at him. “Why don’t you ever get jealous of me?” Hell, maybe that’s what he’s most upset about, because Steve always plays it so fucking cool when Bucky’s got a hunky slab of hormonal beef in his chair, when he knows damn well they might not be so agreeable to the rules of the place. Steve shakes his head and rubs his fingers along the left side of Bucky’s face, fingertips just barely caressing his stubbly jaw.

“Who said I’m not, Buck? I just don’t act on it, because I trust you, and always have. It hurts that you don’t trust me.” He leans in and kisses his forehead anyway, and Bucky doesn’t like that he’s disappointed his alpha, not at all. Steve turns away, and Bucky stops him with a pull on his arm. “Bucky,” he starts, but he remains in place.

“I do trust you, Steve, and I’m sorry, I am. It’s just…” Bucky doesn’t really know where he was taking that thought, and Steve casts a long, assessing look at him once more. “I’m sorry. Really. I’ll do better.”

“That’s all I ever ask for, Buck, is your best. I know where my bed’s made every night, and yours too.” He extracts his arm from Bucky’s grip, and that’s the end of it. He really is going to leave Bucky to think about what he’s done, frustratingly warm with burgeoning arousal. He watches Steve walk out the front door, leaving Bucky to mind the shop while he… does whatever. Bucky goes to see if there’s any tea left in his thermos, finds it empty, and then goes for the end booth that they use as a break area, plugging in the electric kettle and bending to get his lunch out of the mini-fridge. Leftover Chinese, but it’s a godsend right now. He pops it in the microwave, and soon enough the scent of fried rice is making his mouth water, figuring he’s got about twenty minutes left to eat it before his last client shows up. It’s nearly sundown, and this session is going to be at  _ most  _ three hours.

He can make it that long, and then he can spend all night finding creative ways to show that he does indeed love and trust Steve, he’s just a hormonal idiot sometimes. That mating bite scar in his left shoulder is no joke, and they both know that. He eats in contemplation, probably close to burning himself a couple of times - wouldn’t that just be the cherry on the cake? Right as he’s washing his hands in the sink, warm, solid alpha presses against his back, trapping him against the sink. “Don’t move, Bucky.” It’s Steve, of course it is, but it still unnerves Bucky that he didn’t even hear him sneak up. The fucking Army training, it never really went away with Steve. Bucky holds still, Steve’s left arm wrapped high around his chest while his right goes for his belt buckle, getting it undone with rapid skill. God, they’re about to fuck, aren’t they? Quick and dirty - no. There’s no fucking way that Steve is just going to let him off that easy.

Steve reaches for the back of his jeans and tugs them along with his underwear down around the bottom of his ass, and the heat of Steve through his jeans… yeah, Bucky feels like he’s got a fucking waterfall rushing down between his cheeks. “Relax, Buck. Ease up.” Bucky listens, and something nudges against his hole, a solid, cool presence - that very decidedly is  _ not  _ Steve’s cock. It’s the fucking plug Bucky wears when he’s in heat and Steve can’t be inside him - which just calls up a whole bunch of erotic,  _ pointedly  _ unwelcome associations. Steve works it into him, both of them breathing hot and heavy, until it’s nudged up against Bucky’s prostate. Steve grabs a towel and wipes the leaking slick from around the base of the plug and Bucky’s cheeks, then pulls his jeans back up. “I want you as open as you can be, Bucky. Under no circumstances are you to make yourself come with this in you. That’s my job. Are you going to be a good boy and concentrate on your work?”

“Yes, alpha.” No hesitation, and it’s genuine. Steve is still coiled around him like a snake, and he’s turned slowly in his embrace to face him. Christ he’s beautiful, scruff trimmed to perfection, cheeks pink with the barest touch of want - it annoys Bucky just a hair more than it should, not being able to smell  _ more  _ of Steve. Cool as a cucumber.

“Good boy.” Steve puts his left hand to his cheek and leans down, lips hovering a centimeter from Bucky’s own. “Are you my sweetheart, my doll?” So close, and yet so fucking far away.

Bucky nods - “yes, alpha.” Just saying those words makes want rip through him, even though Steve made it  _ abundantly  _ clear that nothing of the sort would be happening here. Steve looks at him for a moment longer - and then he kisses him, fierce, hard, barely checked in his own desire. The storm is indeed raging under the surface, category five in strength and a ten in scope. Steve’s tongue dips into his mouth, Bucky moans, and just as he’s about to invite him in further, it’s over, with Steve pushing Bucky towards the door.

“Your guy is here, let’s not keep him waiting too much longer.” Bucky gets three seconds to compose himself before both of them are walking out, with Steve just a step behind and looming as a solid, immovable force behind him. Bucky was told under no circumstances was he allowed to make himself come, and yet with every movement of his hips, that fucking plug rubs against him. The little “punishments” that Steve comes up with are never  _ blatantly  _ mean. Not really mean of any sort, because Steve isn’t a mean person. No, they’re… frustratingly hot. Bucky probably should have expected this. The fella, Ethan, he’s getting some thigh work done, all coloring. Bucky had done the outline a couple of weeks ago. He’s another alpha, but if he’s picking up on Bucky’s arousal, it doesn’t show. Something contented looking about this one, and he’s smiling and bantering as he takes his pants off and sits down on the chair, blessedly wearing briefs. Good. At least Bucky won’t have to stare at his junk for hours.

He can still feel the heat of Steve pressed against his back. Bucky’s cock is stiff as hell, even as he slips his mind into the careful art of color work. Ethan’s quiet, tapping away at his phone, and Bucky has all the time in the world to speculate on precisely what Steve is going to do to him. He could not let him come for a couple of days, and that likely involves the chastity device. Bucky’s feelings on that one are mixed, even if it is all kinds of hot, allowing his pleasure to be so squarely placed in Steve’s hands. They’ve watched that porn together, played it out, and Bucky hadn’t disliked it enough to tell Steve he didn’t want to do it again. But on the other hand, Steve would know. He would know exactly where the line was, and so far, he and Bucky haven’t found a limit. Probably says a lot more about their trust than anything else, right there. 

Bucky tries hard to not rock on the plug, which is  _ just  _ under the girth of Steve’s knot. Thank Christ this isn’t the one that vibrates, because he is one hundred percent sure that if it was, it would be on and his struggle would be even worse. No one ever said that Steve couldn’t be  _ sadistic  _ when he wanted to be. He keeps clenching around it, leaking steadily, watching for a change from Ethan - maybe he’s one of those alphas who has become inoculated to any other scent other than his own omega’s - he does have that contented look about him. Maybe he’ll go home and show off his fresh ink to his guy, flex for him, show off, and Ethan gets a fucking long session of knot worship out of it - Bucky did the same fucking thing to Steve, when he got his. He’s the one who did it, too, but seeing his finished work on Steve’s body, that’s something special, something almost  _ sacred.  _ His tongue has traced every line on Steve’s body countless times, sought out his secret places and tasted the pleasure that comes with it.

Why the  _ hell  _ did Steve have to pick an option so public that he can’t do a damn thing about it? Because he’s Steve, and he doesn’t get mad with Bucky, just  _ even.  _ His alpha, always pushing him to do better, rather than just let him have his way.

After a while, Ethan says he needs a break and Bucky gets him some water. He needs more tea anyway, and he finds his thermos where he’d left it in the break area - already filled. Steve did that for him, and his heart kind of squeezes too tightly. He sips with gratefulness, taking it back with him to the booth. Ethan’s wiggling his toes, his right hand covering his crotch - Bucky scents arousal. Not like it’s the first time. Alphas get horny for no reason all the time. “Drink up man, we still have a ways to go.”

“Thanks,” he says. Bucky sits back, eyes at the door like Steve is going to walk in. He can hear him in his own booth, working away - but he’s not talking to whomever it is. Maybe he has a quiet one, too. Bucky finds fresh gloves and gets back to work, while Ethan not so subtly rubs himself. Bucky ignores it, and thinks about Steve rubbing his own cock, the way he pulls himself off to his fullest, thickest erection before he pushes home into Bucky’s body. Bucky clenches around the plug again, needier by the minute. Of course there’s no easy way out of this, and Steve already gave him instructions to go easy on himself, to let  _ him  _ handle it.

By the time he’s finished with Ethan, it’s late, he’s horny, and Steve’s scent is so strong that Bucky feels like he may drown. He sends Ethan on his way and he stands, shakily, cleaning up and sucking down clean oxygen in great lungfuls. Everything feels too warm and too tight, and when Steve does finally push the curtain aside, Bucky could melt. “Are you ready?”

“I am.” He’s not sure what he’s supposed to be ready  _ for,  _ but Bucky isn’t about to ask questions. If he’s ready, maybe it gets Steve’s hands on his body faster. Or his mouth on his lips. Seriously, all Steve would have to do is kiss him really hard and the rest would sort itself out at this point. Steve’s a hell of a good kisser, and he could make it happen. Bucky steps forward, and Steve just moves aside, letting him out. He feels a gentle brush of fingers over his ass, as a collector appreciating a fine piece. He walks to the front door as Steve turns the lights off and locks up the shop, the Brooklyn night cool through the Def Tones t-shirt he’s wearing. “Are we going home?”

“We are, doll.” Steve puts an arm around his waist as they walk down the sidewalk to the crossing, and they move with a crowd of people across the street, every step jolting hot, brittle pleasure through his body. Steve  _ has  _ to know how wound up he is at this point, the things it’s doing to his body. They walk through the foyer of their building - and take the fucking stairs, because of course they do. Their apartment is only on the fourth floor, but it’s still a fucking marathon, his dick rubbing against his underwear in a puddle of precome that’s rapidly becoming a lake, the plug filling his hole a personal affront to him keeping his sanity - and Steve is behind him to make sure he doesn’t stop. 

They finally reach their door after an eternity and Steve opens it up, urging Bucky through. He walks through to the den, and Alpine wraps herself around his ankles the minute he flips a lamp on. Bucky coos over here for a moment, picking her up and kissing her on the head while Steve goes for the kitchen. Alpine meows and nuzzles, his best girl ever, and he holds her while he pours some food in her dish, Steve hanging in the refrigerator door while he takes long pulls from a water bottle. He’s stunning, even in the dim fluorescent light. Bucky lets Alpine have her dinner and goes to Steve, rubbing his back. “Is there an embargo on kissing you, or are you afraid it’ll undo your carefully wrought plans?”

Steve closes the door and turns around, pulling Bucky in by the front of his shirt. “I never said you couldn’t do anything to  _ me -  _ you’re the one who’s not allowed to touch himself.” He leans down and captures Bucky’s mouth in a long, tongue-dueling kiss, obviously hungry for him. Bucky moans, his hand shoving into Steve’s back pockets and kneading his muscled ass. Steve growls, low in his throat, and picks Bucky up to place him on the counter. The solid granite pushes back firmly against the base of the plug, making him whine with want. He tries to rock back on it - only for Steve to cotton onto it a second later, and he solves the problem by lifting Bucky completely clear of the counter and keeping him suspended, his tongue never once leaving his mouth. Bucky hates and loves it all at once, and Steve keeps him there all the way to the bedroom, setting him down on the bed and blanketing him with his body. 

“You aren’t off the hook just yet, sweetheart. I hope you’ve thought a  _ lot  _ about just how much I dislike that you don’t have more faith in me.” He lingers on his neck and throat, scenting, licking, teasing, but never enough to give Bucky more than a fleeting glimpse of what he wants most. “Omegas are supposed to trust their mates, Bucky. And so far, you’ve been a  _ very  _ good ‘meg.” He nips at the dip of his collar, right at the top of his sternum. “Or have you forgotten how?”

“I didn’t forget.” It comes out with a little more pleading than he wanted, but God, Steve is all fucking over him. “I do trust you, I do.” Truthfully, his brain is fogged up enough with hormones that he’s forgetting what he was even put off about anyway. Steve hums, pushing Bucky’s shirt up and exposing his hips, licking at the cut of each bone. Bucky’s hands reach for Steve’s hair - and Steve bares teeth at him. Growls. All of it makes Bucky’s hole fucking  _ gush.  _

“Hands above your head, sweetheart - your time for touching is over.” Steve scrapes his beard over his stomach, tongue flicking through his navel. Bucky’s head drops back, mouth open, staring up at the ceiling tiles, burning with want. Steve’s mouth meanders towards his chest, licking over the phoenix on his right side before he swirls around a nipple, sucking, biting, jolting lightning strikes of ecstasy down his spine. Thank Christ he’s not in heat, or he would have creamed himself on that first bite. Steve pauses, getting Bucky’s pants off and away from his body - but leaves his shirt around his upper body. “You’re going to come, Bucky, as many times as I tell you too. I’m going to show you how fucking much I want  _ you,  _ and no one else. I am  _ yours,  _ do you understand?” His hand wraps around his cock, jacking him off as he sucks his nipple back into his mouth. Bucky nearly fucking swallows his own tongue piercing, so suddenly dragged into deepwater pleasure like this.

The way Steve handles him, it’s pleasure that borders on pain, the claiming sort that lights up parts of Bucky’s body he had forgotten about. Over and over again, Steve carries him to the brink, knowing every inch of Bucky’s skin as intimately as his own, until he finally pushed him over the cliff and Bucky comes all over his own stomach and Steve’s hand, wrung out of him by the plug nudged against his sweet spot. Steve doesn’t stop, either, covering Bucky’s mouth with his own. He kisses with a bite, sucking on his bottom lip - and then he’s gone, down between Bucky’s legs. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.” 

Bucky looks and watches Steve unbutton his shirt and drop it away from his body, his inked body conceived by the heavens themselves. His nipples are hard with arousal, that alpha flush pinking the unmarked skin between his tattoos. He’s a dream, one brought forth from the furthest edges of every fantasy Bucky’s ever had. He removes no more than that, taking Bucky’s come and smearing it between his pecs. It mats the chest hair and makes his skin shine, and Bucky watches every fucking second of it. He takes Bucky’s lower body and hauls it towards him, wraps his legs around his ribcage. Steve tightens his chest up and oh,  _ oh, fuck -  _ “fuck my tits, doll. Know you wanna.”

Another whimper, and Bucky listens, snaking his hips like he’s sitting on Steve’s dick. Up and down through the mess of his own come, he slides his cock against the hot valley Steve makes, all the while as Steve keeps him suspended with one hand, cupping his lower back. His other hand stays pressed to the top of Bucky’s cock, keeping him close - giving him all the friction he wants. Bucky can feel his own foreskin sliding back and forth under the palm of Steve’s callused hand, his pink head peeking out of the cover of fingers every time he goes back up. He’s sweating with the effort to keep going, Steve’s lips wetted continually by his own tongue - “that’s it, Bucky, doing so fucking good for me, just like that. Pervy little shit, aren’t you, checking these out at every fucking chance you get. Knew this would get you off, fucking up your alpha’s rack.” God fucking dammit, words alone are enough, and when Steve sneaks a hand to press his thumb against the plug - that’s fucking it.

Bucky comes all over Steve’s face and neck, back arched in lust, crying out to some deity that isn’t going to give him reprieve from the assault on his pleasure centers. Even as Bucky is lowered to the mattress, Steve keeps the pressure up on the plug. He grinds it into him as he surges back towards him and kisses him again, making Bucky taste his own seed. “Fuck my mouth with your tongue, doll, clean me up.” Steve loosens, and Bucky licks into him as far as he fucking can, swiping come from his beard and chin, until Steve is rutting against him, dick still trapped in his jeans.

And yet, Steve still does nothing, save for take Bucky’s shirt off. He tosses it to the floor and then goes for Bucky’s socks, taking them off as well. Steve is still half-dressed, Bucky’s naked, and his body is singing with two draining climaxes. Steve gets up and looks under the bed, pulling out the box they keep the rope in - and he ties Bucky to the wrought-iron bed frame, hands above his head. “Just a little insurance, pretty boy.” He grins at him, and it’s evil, hot all at once. Now that Bucky is all spread out and for what it’s worth, helpless, Steve unbuckles his jeans, his bulge huge in them - and that’s all. He kisses his way back up Bucky’s body, across his chest to his left pit. He licks into that hot space, eating him out like it’s his ass. Bucky whines, cries,  _ pleasepleasepleaseillbegood -  _ and Steve keeps fucking going, leaves that one be after a few torturous minutes and then does the same fucking thing to his right.

Arousal rolls in waves off of Steve, and all Bucky can really do is kind of bury his nose in his shoulder, inhale and try to get more than what Steve is giving. He’s a plaything right now, putty to be molded however Steve sees fit. There’s a freedom in that, but Christ, he’s way, way past the point of wanting Steve’s dick in him. He tries to tangle his legs around Steve’s waist, pull him against his hot body- only for Steve to reach down and hold him under his thigh, leg away from him. “Not yet, baby.” Bucky growls with frustration, Steve laughs, and for the millionth time in his life, Bucky wonders precisely what made him present to this man in the first place. 

Probably all of the things he’s doing to him now, for a start. Steve finally pulls back and kisses Bucky for a fleeting moment, measured out once again. “I’m going to put you on your knees.” Steve manages to do just that without pulling one of Bucky’s arms from its socket, too. Steve stands on the bed, enormous before Bucky’s position, and he draws his head towards his crotch, his mouth finding the outline of Steve’s hard cock. “That’s it Buck, tease me.” He loosens Bucky’s bun and gets his fingers in his hair, anchoring them together. Bucky licks, kisses, sucks, as much as he can through the denim. Steve hums and whispers sweet nothings,  _ you want it so badly don’t you, want to taste my cock, make me come down your throat -  _ on and on. Bucky’s dick twitches with every word. He looks up at him as much as he can, bewitched by the praise he sees in Steve’s eyes. 

With agonizing slowness, Steve pulls button and fly apart, his trunks riding low enough that Bucky can see the dark blonde pubic hair peeking out of the top of them. He puts his nose there and inhales, keeping it buried as Steve takes his jeans down, down, down, his cock outlined with detail in the clingy material. Bucky mouths at that too, needy as he can be. “I want to suck your cock, alpha.” It comes out as steady as he can manage - which eats up a lot of his remaining brainpower. He’s as knot-drunk as he can get without having it in him, and Steve, God, he finally relents a bit more and pulls his underwear down, and takes his cock to trace the weeping tip over Bucky’s lips. Bucky holds his tongue out and Steve slides his head against it, salt-slick left everywhere. Bucky can’t help but drool - he’s got his nostrils full of his alpha’s musk, and it only gets stronger as Steve feeds his cock right into his mouth.

There’s a dull thudding in his ears as his jaw is forced open, Steve’s girth imposing, yes - but he long ago trained Bucky’s throat up to take him. Bucky clenches around the plug again, and as Steve rocks his hips, knot pressed to Bucky’s mouth, he comes again, so, so relieved to have Steve inside him - even if it’s not quite the way he wants. Steve senses the way his body tightens, the scent of come filling the air for the third time. “Good boy,” Steve purrs - and Bucky glows with that praise. Steve reached down and strokes his throat, until Bucky can’t take any more. “Gonna have to get my cock nice and wet for your ass, sweetheart. Plan on breeding you full.”

Bucky gets to work sucking him as well as he can. 

He’s had years of practice at this, sucking his alpha’s massive dick. Steve just stands there, hand on the back of his head, as Bucky uses his mouth and throat to thicken, stimulate, soak him with all the skill he’s got. It’s freeing, in a way, to have this sole purpose right now - to be used for his alpha’s pleasure. Normally, Steve fucks his face, hard and rough, enough to leave Bucky’s head spinning. He doesn’t do it for the time being, and Bucky wonders why he’s holding himself back. He banished the thought and keeps sucking, listening to Steve moan and growl, his other hand tugging off at his right nipple. He always has taken a fascination with his own chest, and Bucky wonders if he’ll ever get them pierced - whatever made them, blessed them both with tits that are hardwired to everything else. Doing so means that more and more precomed seeps down Bucky’s throat, overfull with the heavy taste of his alpha going into full fuck mode. He wants him there, wants Steve to ruin him so thoroughly that precious little else matters. 

Steve’s dick pulses without warning, and he rips himself from Bucky’s lips, dragging long strings of spit with him. He grabs the base of himself, squeezing  _ hard,  _ panting and dripping with sweat. Bucky looks up at him and tries to catch his own breath, fully expecting Steve to blow on his face. He doesn’t, and he drops to the bed onto his back, and with surprising rapidity, lifts Bucky up, pulls his plug out and shoves his cock right back in - the gut punch of that suddenly longer, thicker presence has Bucky’s head spinning, his head tossed back. Steve roars and Bucky feels him come, unable to hold it off. “Fuuuuuuuucking  _ shit, _ ” Steve bellows, his fingers dug fast into Bucky’s hips. Every muscle in his torso ripples, pumping Bucky full of come. Bucky’s head drops, feeling Steve’s knot start to take - and then he’s fucking up into him, slow for just enough time to allow for Bucky to stretch more.

It’s not quite relentless, the way Steve fucks him - but there’s need there, deep, primal, desire that calls back God knows how many thousands of years. Bucky’s entire body shakes with that force, fucked deep, Steve holding him up like his only purpose is to take his dick -  _ feel so goddamn good, pretty boy, swear to God you do, fucking tight, wet cunt, just for me, gonna fill you up, fuck, Bucky, gonna knock you the fuck up and keep fucking going -  _ he’s gone on himself, on them, and Bucky’s pulled under the current right along with him.

When Steve gets like this it's akin to riding a stallion with ten times too much attitude for its body, and Bucky is very much not the one in control here. Steve fucks up into him hard enough that his nuts slap against his ass, full with their need for further release. Bucky takes every bit of it, his prostate nailed over and over again, coming close to orgasm three times before Steve backs off again. He knows he's being edged on his cock, teased without mercy - and there's not a goddamn thing he can do about it. He is serving at Steve's pleasure, full stop.

"Close," Steve growls, face dripping and his chest hair stuck fast with moisture. His pupils are so dark they're almost black, holding Bucky's gaze. "I want you to come Bucky, come on, fucking mark me up again." He wraps his right hand around his leaking dick, stroking in that steel-in-velvet way that has always driven Bucky absolutely mad. Bucky moans and lets the very last of his inhibition go, a torrent of pleasure splitting him in two, all the way down to his toes. He hangs against his ties, slumped forward, and finally feels Steve's knot tie in him, swelled and plugged and coming deep. Steve arches up and sinks his teeth into Bucky's mouth, whimpering with the almighty punch of his own orgasm. Bucky can only kiss him back - his hands are still bound. 

Enough brainpower is scraped together to get them undone, Steve’s strong fingers rubbing the circulation back into his arms and fingers in broad circles, Bucky sitting all gathered up in his lap. “Do you get it now, sweetheart?’ He lifts his hands to his mouth and kisses each fingertip, shuddering as another wave of his orgasm crests - Bucky already knows he’s going to be leaking for hours afterwards. Bucky whispers a broken  _ yes,  _ and kisses Steve again, groaning with need that’s still trying to burn. He licks his own come from Steve’s chest and neck, feeds it back to Steve a finger at a time - just in case they weren’t messy enough already. Steve’s knot pulses again, and Bucky ends up on his back, legs and arms wrapped around Steve’s body like ancient, unbreakable vines.

“There’s never gonna be anyone else for me, sweetheart. Wiggle all the pretty asses in my face and put scent under my nose, and I’m gonna pick you every time.” Steve holds his face, thumbs caressing his cheeks, his eyes calmer, more lucid - staring right into Bucky’s soul. “I didn’t pick my trade to be in bodies because I wanted to make you jealous, I picked it because I like my art living on people - especially you.”

Bucky is  _ not  _ going to cry - but he buries his face in Steve’s neck anyway. “You’re going soft on me, cut it out.”

“For you, Buck? Never.”

Good. Bucky really, really hopes not.


End file.
